


Paint Gets Thrown

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Other, but i had a lot of fun writing it :), idk if anyone will find this as funny as i did yesterday on my way from work, is this kind of a crackfic...?, silly fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25281715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: Gerry finally decides to give up Leitner hunting for painting, except his last job unfortunately turns out to have no forseeable end, no matter how much paint he throws at it.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Michael | The Distortion, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	Paint Gets Thrown

**Author's Note:**

> my good friend endorsed a stupid joke I made and we escalated. They wrote most of Gerry's dialogue, I took the dialogue and wrote it into...something.

Gerry should have never followed up on the lead in the first place. He had wanted to stop following any leads, really. This was supposed to be the last one. It had sounded like an avatar of the Spiral of some sort. It wouldn’t be the first time Gerry heard of somebody in artistic circles being involved with that particular entity. It made it more difficult to ignore since Gerry was now part of those circles. So he went to investigate, hoping for something quick and easy. He didn’t know why. The Distortion had never been quick or easy to deal with. 

It turned out to not be a corrupted human, but an actual aspect of the entity. One that, as far as Gerry could tell, seemed unkillable. And one that refused to stop  _ bothering _ him. It had taunted him ever since he confronted - and had tried to get rid of it - the first time, continuously reminding him of how there seemed to be nothing working and how what was meant to be his last job of this kind turned out to be a never ending one. Gerry should have known that there simply was no escape to this life.

But it wasn’t only the taunting, its presence made it difficult to work. It made it difficult to  _ think _ . Gerry still partly blamed that for the first time he flung the paint bucket he had been holding at it. Well, not the whole bucket - in retrospect, he should have tried  _ that _ \- just the paint. Its stunned face as the colour hit it square in the face had been satisfying. And it did leave right after, making Gerry dare to celebrate the success of finally getting rid of it.

Until it came back. And again, it drove him up the wall. Again, he ended up flinging paint at it. This time, it did not look surprised, only pissing Gerry off more. It even  _ grinned _ . He wanted to strangle it, but he still had a healing scar from the last time he tried to kill it with his bare hands. At least it did go away.

And came back. Gerry started to use cheaper paint. He loved spending his mother’s money, but not on that shiteating grin. And he seemingly kept blacking out and throwing paint at it in anger. Or frustration. He guessed that at least he wouldn’t hurt himself again that way. The first punch had also been in rage and he could still feel its skin cutting into his joints. The memory of that was nearly worse than the actual pain he had felt. It had simply felt  _ wrong _ .

Michael dared to  _ complain _ about the cheaper paint. It was the second time it got some cheap cerulean thrown into its face when, instead of leaving, as it usually did, it pulled a face, bringing one of its distressingly long fingers to its face to touch the paint and then look at it on its finger. 

It looked disappointed. "It's not as bright."

Gerry just stared at it, disbelieving. “Do I look like your personal makeup artist?!"

Michael looked utterly unbothered. “I’d hope not considering your own makeup always looks like you slept in it."

Maybe he should try hitting it over the head with one of the canvases. Not worth it, he decided. Instead, he gave it a tight-lipped smile. "Why don't you find someone else to paint your stupid face then, fucker." 

Gerry was beyond caring about how pissed he sounded, which didn’t mean his jaw didn’t clench tighter as Michael’s eyes literally sparkled with amusement. "Nobody else is quite as entertaining to annoy as you are."

His mouth opened, but Gerry just shook his head, deciding he had had enough. He put the brush he had been holding in a deathgrip back down and left the room. He felt Michael’s eyes following him and flipped it the bird on his way out, not bothering to turn around.

*

Gerry walked until he had stopped fuming and since he happened to be right next to a pub when he calmed down, he decided to go inside. He definitely needed a drink. He  _ deserved _ a drink after dealing with that idiot.

He settled in a booth in the darkest corner with his beer and let out a frustrated sigh. Had he known this would happen he’d never had followed up on that lead. This thing was costing him his last nerve. It refused to die. And it really was making him waste paint. Sure, money wasn’t a problem for him, but it was still getting excessive. It would only really be worth it if that thing would finally stop appearing.

He took a long sip and leaned back, looking up at the dark ceiling. The cool glass was calming, but he could still feel himself  _ seething _ . Its presence alone was annoying enough, making Gerry wonder about things he forgot, about whether things were as they should be. But then it also just kept  _ talking _ and that was somehow even more infuriating. That amused tone that stuck to every word, every noise it made. It made Gerry want to crush something. 

“Is everything fine?,” came a voice over the music and Gerry tore his eyes away from the ceiling and to its source. His hand clenched around his glass. 

“Did you fucking follow me?,” he pressed out through clenched teeth and found himself wanting to throw the contents of his glass at it. He had no hope of that actually making it fuck off, but by now it had just become a habit. He did feel some strange form of catharsis doing it. Maybe he should throw the whole glass and see if it would let it hit itself and shatter.

Michael’s grin only grew wider and Gerry’s knuckles went white with the force he was putting into holding his glass. Its voice sounded sticky with self satisfaction as it said, “I did no such thing.”

Gerry didn’t even notice himself throwing the glass, was already making his way to the exit when he realised what had happened. He hadn’t even it connect with it, but before he could consider turning around to look, he heard its headache-inducing laughter. With a fresh surge of anger, he threw the door open and stepped back out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> d'you know what I learned from this? It's easier to write dialogue when you're actually having a dialogue with another person. Who would've known.


End file.
